Disclaimer: Not mine. JK Rowlings.
"He came last night, when you were in bed" said Mr Weasley.
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Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Harry lowered his own eyes to his plate. The thought that Dumbledore had been in the house on the eve of his hearing and not asked to see him made him feel, if it were possible, even worse.
OotP - direct quote.
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I remember the night I came to Grimmauld place. It was the eve of your hearing.
I wanted so badly to see you, to assure you it would be all right. That you would get off, that it was a case of using magic in defence. To reassure you that I was there for you. That you could always come to me if you had a problem or needed comfort.
But I couldn't. If I got to close to you, Voldemort could use it to manipulate you and it would turn out terribly. And so I pushed you away, ignored you in hopes it would deter Voldemort. And look where it has lead to. Sirius is dead, you are hurting and I am sitting in an empty office, surrounded by smashed trinkets and muttering portraits. Our conversation, if you could call it that, is stuck in my mind and I know that I won't need a Pensieve to remember it for a long time. I will remember it for the rest of my life.
I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE.
How those words chill my bones! How I wish that it didn't have to be you to save us, to be the one with all our hopes on your too-thin shoulders. You're too young to face this, see people dying, being tortured. You shouldn't be worrying about how much longer you have to live, whether you will live past your next birthday, who will die next. You should be worrying about girls and your next Quidditch and schoolwork. I wish you would confide in me. Let me know what happens behind those beautiful green eyes of yours. Trust me enough to tell me. But no. You bottle it up, not wanting to share your problems with anyone else. Not even Miss Granger or Mr Weasley can get you to confide in them.
You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.
When I said those words, I saw your eyes glaze temporarily. And relief surged through me. You would cry, let it out, grieve for Sirius and Cedric. But you started throwing and destroying things. And I worry what your reaction should be if any of your friends die. I shudder to think what you would do.
But you fight. Just like your father.
No. Bad thought. I hate comparing you to your father. You are your own person. It is a shame no one sees that. I see your expression when they say the words 'your father would have been proud of you.' What about them? Are they proud of you? I am. But are they proud?
Oh, how I wish I had told you earlier! Maybe then, Sirius would be alive. I wish Occlumency lessons had been started earlier!
A sigh escapes me. Occlumency. Another mistake of mine. I should have taught you myself, Voldemort be damned. But I had poor judgement. I thought Severus could get over his hatred of James, see you are not him when he sees your memories. But instead he was blind. I have a feeling he meant you to look at his memories. Even Severus, with his poor experience with children, knows that leaving a Pensieve full of memories about someone a child wishes to know, unguarded in a room with said child, they will look into it.
I should have told him, forced him to continue. I could have taught you myself. There would still be time to fix the damage Severus made. But I didn't. And now you are hurting, suffering for the mistakes of an old man.
Oh. Harry, why must you have so many burdens to bear? Why must it be you they pin their hopes on, their adoration, their fear, their dislike? Why can they not see you are but a child with fears and hopes of your own?
But maybe I am being a hypocrite. Only today when you wrecked my office did I see you. Five years of being near you, fifteen of knowing you and I have not seen the real you.
And I hate myself for it.